


just got to let me try to give you what you want

by Anonymous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergent, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied Cheating, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Unsafe Sex, post 6x09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-24 09:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Josie tries to seduce Bellamy when she's still in Clarke's body.





	just got to let me try to give you what you want

**Author's Note:**

> please be wary of the tags!!! take care of yourself please
> 
> i wrote this mostly for the angst, and it was super fun to get into a psycho's head (josie), but obviously BIG disclaimer i don't support what happens in this fic and i actually kind of felt queasy reading it back. on the other hand i also didnt want bellamy to actually go through with it willingly (like in the prompt) because i dont think he would canonically. also yes its fiction but i get into my head about these things especially based on my own sexual experiences in the past and i just wanted to be upfront about it. don't like it, please don't read it!!!!
> 
> based on this prompt for the kinkmeme: While Josephine is still in Clarke’s body, she tries to seduce Bellamy for whatever reason (fun, ior to try and get him to give up). She keeps kissing him, undresses in front of him, outs his hands on her body, etc. and at first he pushes her away but ends up giving in, maybe thinking they’re fonna die anyway or maybe just because he’s wanted it for so long.

As soon as Bellamy wakes up, he knows something is wrong. His shirt is sticking to his back from sweat, and when he tries to push his hair away from his eyes, his arms seem to be stuck. He pries open his eyes, blinking at the sudden brightness for a moment before the blur fades into Clarke staring back at him from across the room.

Not Clarke, he reminds himself. His head pounds, and he groans at the sudden sensory overload. The lights too bright, the rain pelting outside too loud. He looks down at himself, yanking on what he assumes are ropes tying his arms behind him, his ankles to the legs of the chair. She must have been into sailing when she was younger, in her own body perhaps, because they don’t budge.

“Took you long enough,” Josephine mutters, sounding bored, but then she struts closers to him with her identical wooden chair, a sweet smile on her face as she brushes back his damp hair for him. Almost cruel. His hair is sticky with blood. 

It comes flooding back in at all once. How they had to hide from Gabriel’s children, fled into an old abandoned cabin, her hitting him over the head with something heavy the first chance she got. 

“I started without you,” she purrs, slamming down the chair right in front of him and plopping down on it, biting down on her bottom lip as she plays with the hem of Clarke’s black tank top. She spreads her knees wide.

“Stop,” he says, commanding, barely paying attention to her as he yanks and yanks on his restraints again. He needs to get out of here. They’re running out of time.

“I tried her out myself, of course. Tried to fuck myself with her fingers, but they’re so small, too small.” She leans forward, elbows on her thighs as her hand trails down his forearm. She pouts. “Unlike yours.” 

He flinches, disgust pooling in his gut. 

“I had my sights set on your friend John, but I’m afraid I’ve rendered him quite…” She pretends to search for the words, tapping a finger to her chin. “Weak.” Josephine’s smirk widens again, mischievous glint in her eyes as she winks at him. “And I like it rough.” 

“Shut up,” he grits, anger surging through his entire body. His wrists ache sharply as he keeps digging the red, raw flesh into the ropes; hoping by some miracle they might give in. 

“Oh, come on,” Josephine pouts childishly, crossing her arms over her chest. “There’s three hours left, maybe five tops. You really wanna waste this grade A bod because you have what?” She scoffs, tucking a piece of Clarke’s hair behind her ear, eyebrows raising in an all too similar matter. “Morals?” 

“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you,” he spits, head still hammering on like crazy, vision blurring at the edges. “But I’m not going to play this game with you.”

“Look, if it took me less than five hours to get back to Sanctum, I would. I’d probably take John for a spin, or maybe even his pretty little girlfriend. Facial tattoos are totally hot,” she presses, eyes flicking to the ceiling briefly, her high grating voice doing nothing to soothe his headache, only makes it worse. “But since that’s impossible, considering you insisted on going on this little two man suicide mission even though I warned you not to, you’re the only option I have.” 

His heart aches with a distant memory and he pushes it away, tries to focus on the task at hand. She sighs, dramatic, trailing her fingers across her own collarbone lazily. “And I’m quite desperate, Bellamy.”

His name sounds wrong in her mouth. Clarke never says his name the way she does. He feels sick, so sick. He doesn’t say anything, keeps fiddling with the ropes instead, decides it’s better to ignore her all together. So Josephine pulls Clarke’s tank top over her head, starts kneading her breasts through the cups of her dark lacey bra. He clenches his jaw so hard, he’s afraid it might snap it half, refusing to look at her.

When she stands, her chair scrapes over the floor before falling back with a loud thud. Suddenly she’s lowering herself into his lap, straddling him. She moans loudly as her crotch rubs over his zipper, and he turns his head farther away from her, shoulders stiffening, fingers curling into fists.

Josephine does it again, then digs her fingers into his jaw, tearing his face towards her, forcing him to look into her eyes. “Kiss me.”

“No,” he grits, but then she’s pressing her mouth against his, shoving her tongue inside his mouth when he lets out a small gasp. Her mouth is so soft, so warm. Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut, tries to move his head back, but she knots her hands into his hair, keeps him firmly in place. 

Josephine pulls back with a small yelp, finger coming up to touch her lip as she sucks it into her mouth. He bit her hard enough to draw blood, hoping it could be some sort of warning. Telling her he’s not her toy. That he doesn’t want this. She drags back her fingers to look at them, covered in black metallic liquid, and his heart sinks to his stomach as he watches the corners of her lips curve up almost excitedly. She’s crazy. 

Josie’s full on smirking now as she wipes her fingers clean on his cheek, like she’s marking him. “A little blood doesn’t scare me, Bell,” she murmurs, dragging her thumb over his bottom lip before digging into the dip just below just enough to slightly part his mouth. She grinds down into him again. “I bet she does. I bet likes it soft and gentle, huh? Calls it making love and wants you to hold her after? Have you close?”

He stiffens again, tries not to think about the implications of her words or show her the effect they have on him, stares at her blankly instead. Josephine’s eyebrows shoot up, a small ‘oh’ forming on her lips. “You don’t know, do you?” 

He goes back to ignoring her completely, fixing his gaze on the wall beside her head. He’s not going to fall for her ways. She wants this, wants him on edge, frustrated. Thinks that if he is, he might do something about it. Do something to her.

“Why not? You’re definitely attracted to her,” Josephine babbles on mindlessly, and he doesn’t even think she cares if he’s listening or not. She leans her head down, starts nipping at his neck, bites down hard on his pulse point, pressing her chest forward so Clarke’s tits press against his chest while she fumbles with the back of the bra. 

“Stop,” he says again, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple, feeling nausea washing over him in undeniable, all-consuming waves. It feels too good, too good -- he’s sicker than her. He needs to get her off of him.

There’s a small snap, and then she’s pulling the straps of Clarke’s bra down her arms, flinging it off somewhere to the side. Her bare tits press against his chest, nipples hard. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head. Fuck. This is never how he imagined it.

“What? You want to deny it?” She breathes against his neck, bites into his shoulder, licks a stripe up until just below his ear. Breath hot, she whispers, “Then why are you hard?” To make her point, she snakes one hand in between them, palming his crotch. 

Bellamy swallows hard as he tries not to buck up into her hand at the sensation. Josephine’s cheshire grin widens as she sits back, admires him like he’s the fruits of her labor. “That’s what I thought.” 

Clarke’s fingers -- Josephine’s -- make quick work of unbuckling his belt, popping open the button of his jeans. He shakes his head, tries to jerk away somehow but she ignores him, pulls down his boxers just enough for his cock to spring free against his abdomen. 

“Oh,” she says, licking her lips. “I think I can work with his.”

“Stop, please stop,” Bellamy begs, far beyond caring he sounds like a pathetic mess. His eyes are screwed shut. He can’t look at her like, feel her like this, not when it’s not her. Not really. “Don’t do this. I’ll -- I’ll --”

“You’ll _what_?” Josie snaps, a humoured huff leaving her lips as she pulls back from him, hands on his waist. “She’s practically dead already, Bellamy. I will live on one way or another, but you’ve seen the seizures, wiped away the blood from my nose, ears.” She raises her eyebrows, lowers her voice like she’s saying something sweet, does it so well, he almost believes her, “She’s dead. And it’s all your fault. The least you can do is make some worthwhile memories with this body while you still can.”

“Don’t do this,” he pleads, staring into her eyes, hoping to find some semblance of a human being in there somewhere. They’re vacant. His tongue darts out to wet his cracked lips. “Please don’t do this.”

Josephine presses her lips together like she’s trying to hold back a laugh, making fun of him. One of her hands slips under his shirt, nails raking up his chest before they scrape over one of his nipples. “I’ll make it good for you, baby, I promise.”

She lifts herself off him, shimmying Clarke’s pants down her hips before hooking her thumbs into the matching lacy panties, dragging those down too before kicking them somewhere to the side. She stands there, naked. Bellamy averts his eyes, looks anywhere but at her.

He feels helpless, powerless, sitting there stuck in a chair, not even able to fight off a girl half his size. Tears form in his eyes. Clarke. This is one crossed line too many. She won’t forgive him for this; he knows she won’t. That is if he can even still save her.

Josie sinks back down on top of him, hissing at his cock bumps into her clit as she does so. “This is going to be amazing,” she murmurs, hands sliding up his chest to cover his shoulders. Once she’s steady, she reaches in between them, drags her fingers through her folds. 

“So good,” Josie says, eyes practically rolling into the back of her head as she sucks her fingers into her mouth. She releases them with a loud pop before she repeats the process, coating her fingers in Clarke’s juices. She holds them up in front of Bellamy’s face expectantly. “Wanna taste?”

His nostrils flare as he grits his teeth together, the sweet smell of it already too much. When he doesn’t respond, she just shrugs half-heartedly, putting them into her own mouth and sucking them clean. “Suit yourself.”

She pumps his cock a few times, wets it by spitting in her palm and more of Clarke’s wetness. Josie holds his gaze, says, “Ready?”, but is already pushing him into her entrance, sinking down as deep as she can go. As deep as she can take him.

Her breath hitches in the back of her throat, pausing above him as she closes her eyes, her cheeks a rosy pink, splotched all over her neck and chest, too. She’s so fucking beautiful, it hurts. 

“I bet she can take it, don’t you think?” Josie says, licking her lips. Her eyes still closed, forehead creased in concentration. “I think she can. She’s so tight, isn’t she? Our good little girl.” She moans, unexpected as the head of his cock bumps into her walls. All he can do is sit there, take it. She readjusts, biting down on her lip as she slowly sinks deeper and deeper, takes him inch by inch, clenching around him. “I bet she can take all of you.”

Josie moans loudly, obscene almost, as he fills her completely, hitting her cervix. Bellamy keeps his jaw squared, feels wetness trail down his cheeks. This is so fucked up. She licks the tear away, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then starts moving up and down with slow, long strokes, cursing ‘ _fuck, fuck, fuck_ ’ over and over again. 

As she moves, pounds down onto him, skin slapping against skin, she babbles, “I bet you’re imaging one of your little friends coming into to rescue you at the last minute, huh?” She throws her head back, one hand digging into his shoulder, the other disappearing in between them to thumb at Clarke’s clit. “You are, aren’t you? They take me out of her head and -- oh,” she curses, biting down on her lip hard. “They take me out and in a few months her belly starts to swell, these glorious tits start to grow bigger and bigger.” She laughs, delirious, eyes still screwed shut. “Will you tell her as soon as you get her back?”

He tries to tune her out, tries to focus on the ceiling, push away the fire growing deep inside of him, tries not to enjoy it. Her tits moving against his chest every time she slams back into him, her walls clenching around him like they were made to take him. Just him. 

Her eyes spring open. “No. I think you won’t,” she smirks, nips at his jaw, then soothes the sharp ache with a soft kiss. “I think you’ll wait until it comes out with dark curls and bronze skin. I think you’ll tell her then. How you fucked her pretty little pussy without her knowing.” She gasps, starts moving her finger over her clit faster and faster. “Came inside her and never told her.”

She’s making all kinds of noises, movements starting to get more erratic as she takes what she wants from him. “I bet you’ve thought about fucking her like this, haven’t you?” Her wet fingers come up to pull at one of her nipples roughly, roll it between her forefinger and thumb. “I bet you have, don’t deny it.” She rolls her eyes, even though her face twists with pleasure within a second. Something grows deeper and deeper within him, and he resents it, wills it to go away. “Oh right. Do you think about her when you fuck the other one then? What’s her name?” She doesn’t shut up. He wishes she’d just shut up. Come already. Have this be over. Josie laughs, the sound cold and distant. Victorious. Her breaths start to come in harder, sharper, her words more jumbled by the second. “Doesn’t-- doesn’t matter. I know you’re not thinking about her right now.”

Suddenly she attaches her mouth back to his, kissing him hard and sloppy and wet as her whole body grows taut and her movements still. Her walls clench and unclench around him rapidly as her orgasm comes over her in waves and he can’t do anything but let it happen. He comes, hard. Filling her with his cum like she wanted him to.

She keeps kissing him, hips bucking against her own palm as she milks him for all he’s worth. He can never forget the little sounds, the look on her face as she falls apart. Josie lets out a content little sigh as soon as she’s come down enough to open her eyes. Shiny fingers reach up to wipe a strand of hair from his face, cupping his cheek. “I told you I’d make you feel good.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, jerking his face away from her, not sure who he’s more angry at. Her, or himself. He has no restraint, no control. He doesn’t care about her. If he cared, he would’ve been able to hold back. She’s dying, and he just wasted hours, knocked out, listening to psycho Josie, fucking her. How is he ever going to look at himself in the mirror after this? Look at --

“Oh, so soon?” Josie grins, winching only slightly as she lifts herself off him. Her hand disappears back in between her thighs, comes back out coated in a mixture of his cum and her juices. She admires it, tries it out between her fingers before meeting his dark gaze. She presses her thumb into his mouth, against his teeth, smears it across his lips. The taste is salty and tangy sweet at the same time. “Just give me a second and then we can go again, baby.”


End file.
